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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27048007">to dream of growing (while one shrinks)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/kingwellsjaha/pseuds/kingwellsjaha'>kingwellsjaha</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Haunting of Bly Manor (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>(but who can prove me wrong honestly), (kind of if you squint your eyes), (like yeah probably didn't happen this way), Abusive Parents, Abusive Relationships, Canon Compliant, Character Study, Daddy Issues, F/M, let rebecca be the gothic romantic heroine she was meant to be</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 19:41:01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,853</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27048007</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/kingwellsjaha/pseuds/kingwellsjaha</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Her eulogy goes like this: a poor misguided heroine destroyed in the clutches of an evil man. A beautiful brilliant woman punished for her virtues, an object without agency.</p><p>They make a warning out of her, a tragedy. They paint her the innocent victim. Rebecca knows that they do it out of love and yet she still hates them for it.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Rebecca Jessel/Peter Quint</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>64</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>to dream of growing (while one shrinks)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>alrightie, here we go. i think i need to preface this by saying, that this will heavily deal with a very unhealthy relationship dynamic (although i kind of assume that you already know that). this is also not really a story of the heroine completely breaking free, completely turning around. it's a character study, about a woman who is in a very bad relationship and the complex reasons as to why because i feel like this was a bit lacking on the show.</p><p>this is also a bit untangled and for that i am sorry, maybe at some point i will write something a bit more concise.</p><p>i have also decided not to try and copy peter's accent. i think the Scottish accent was butchered enough and you can all imagine it.</p><p>another heads up: there are some sexual situations, nothing too explicit, but just so you know.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The cycle goes like this: She sleeps, she wakes, she remembers, she falls asleep again, she forgets.</p><p>Simple really.</p><hr/><p>It’s getting harder to stay focused these days, to not slip away into a memory. Peter worries about her more and more, but he cannot stop her from disappearing. She had promised him to withstand the pull and she had meant it—she repeats that word in her head, meant it, she had promised that—but her will grows weaker these days or maybe she just wants to disappear more often to live inside a memory, tucked away far away from reality.</p><p>In one moment she is with Flora, walking down the garden listening to Miss Clayton, a beautiful kind lady—Rebecca is so happy that the children have got such a nice governess—and then she finds herself on a picnic blanket by the lake. Peter is pouring her a glass of wine—<em>only one of course, you have to work I know</em>. It’s the evening after their first night together and everything feels fresh and perfect. She doesn’t even mind that he lays his legs over hers, although she had tried to keep their—for the lack of a better word—thing a secret still, just for a little while, she had told herself, just so that she could enjoy this without the scrutiny of Hannah’s eyes or Jamie’s biting words. Like this she can brush it off for a while. She laughs at his joke and takes a sip of the wine. The sun is slowly setting and it’s beautiful to watch.</p><p>Everything is fine. She repeats these words in her head, lulls her body with wine, but whenever her eyes move to the lake, she remembers the water in her lungs, the cold clutches of death grasping at her, Peter’s lifeless corpse in the water. Even when she turns back to him sitting on the picnic blanket, she cannot forget his lifeless expression.</p><p>The memory notices of course because he is her. “What’s wrong?”</p><p>She could break it now, she realizes, could slip back to Flora, close to the girl she could forget about the water in her lungs, the terror, the loneliness. But somehow she wants to stay, wants to feel it more deeply. She takes the rest of the wine, drinks it in one go. It still faintly tastes how she remembers it. Her hands move to his face as she pulls him closer.</p><p>“Nothing,” she whispers as she starts to kiss him. He indulges her, quickly overpowering her. In reality, she had not let it go that far that day, she had kept him at bay. Afraid of Hannah or Owen finding them. He had kept his hand on her thigh, slowly crawling up, but that had been it. But now it doesn’t matter, she wants to forget—no, she wants to remember.</p><p>He pulls her underneath him and it feels a bit like the water pressing against her body, he kisses her until she is breathless and it feels like she is drowning again. And she is terrified, she wants to scream, but she also wants to stay. She wants to revel in this memory, until she can feel herself dying again.</p><p>It’s what she deserves.</p><hr/><p>All her memories take place on the manor. It sometimes feels like she had had no life before—no life before him, but it had only been a year, hadn’t it? Just one year to turn everything upside down and change her forever.</p><p>One day, however, she slips and suddenly is back at home, at the dining table, they are having tea and cake. It’s a beautiful summer afternoon. Her father and mother sit across from her, her brother is of course nowhere to be found. Silently they sip their tea. Her credentials lie unacknowledged between them. She presses her lips together and looks at her cup. She still remembers this moment well, the entire day. How proud she had been, how confident.</p><p>“I will need a pupillage next,” she declares. Oh, how desperate she had been for any sort of reaction. Her father only grunts at that. Her mother looks to the side. If her father had not been there, her mother would’ve told her how proud she was, but whenever they were together she always took his side. Rebecca does not try to let this stop her. She will get through this, she had clawed herself into university, past haughty professors and smug grinning upper class boys. Her father cannot be worse than that. “I have already looked at a few. There is a network for young women-,” her father of course snorts at that, she chooses to ignore him, “and we will work together to get the best opportunities.”</p><p>Her smile at the end is met with neutral expressions. She notices how her mother takes a quick peek at her father before taking another sip of tea. When she is done, there is a big fake smile on her face.</p><p>“Would anyone like more tea?”</p><p>No one answers. Her mother gets up regardless, taking the teapot with her. Now there is only the uneaten cake and her credentials. Her father looks politely to the side. Despite it being only a memory—or maybe exactly for that reason—Rebecca can feel the regret settling in. A familiar feeling when it came to interacting with her father.</p><p>She shouldn’t have come, she realizes, how else had she imagined it to turn out? For her father to finally be happy or interested? For her mother to openly congratulate her infront of him? No, she knew that it had been unlikely. She had imagined something more twisted back then: just a slight smile, a curious glance at her credentials. She had imagined it to be powerful enough to even tempt him, but of course it had not, it does not.</p><p>And now she is doomed to sit at this table and watch this man that used to take her to museums, that used to tell her bed times stories, that made her everything she is now—smart, brilliant, ambitious—ignore her.</p><p>“How is Alfred?” She asks, even though she doesn’t want to know, but she cannot stand the silence any longer.</p><p>Her father shrugs. “Still studying.”</p><p>No comment about his grades or accomplishments, probably because he doesn’t have any. Alfred never had a drive of his own. Not that it’s a bad thing. She loves her younger brother—as much as she is capable of doing so, but probably not enough—but he would’ve been happy simply working part time in a shop, but not with a father like theirs. A father that has sacrificed much to get his family where it is now. So Alfred has to, even though he is failing.</p><p>Rebecca looks closely at her father, the greying hair, the bad moustache, his clothes as usual are orderly and well suited. She looks at him in all his detachment. <em> Why don’t you see me? </em> She cannot help but wonder, <em> I’m sitting right in front of you and yet you do not see me. </em></p><p>She blinks the tears away. Had he cried when he heard she had died? He must’ve been sad, that she has to believe, but how sad exactly? Had he bemoaned her?</p><p>An image pops up in her head, it’s not a memory, it’s not a dream, just a simple scenario. She has not thought up some in a long time. She sees her father putting away his phone, sitting back down on the chair. She sees her mother with a worried expression.</p><p><em> What is it</em>, she asks and it’s just a whisper.</p><p>Her father needs a moment to collect his thoughts before he finally starts to speak. <em> It’s Rebecca, they found her dead in a lake. </em></p><p>Immediately her mother’s eyes widen, but the realisation of what has happened is only slowly sinking in. Then she gasps and breaks down. Her father is there to hold her. He lifts her up and holds her close as her mother sobs. It’s silent for a long while. Only her mother’s sobs and half finished phrases: <em> my little girl, my poor little girl</em>.</p><p>Her father barely reacts, always the man, always the shield. When her mother has grown quiet, he sighs. <em> Why did she have to take this job? All these dreams of becoming a barrister, all her ambition. I should’ve held her more tightly. I should’ve forced her to stay. How could I let my daughter get lost? </em></p><hr/><p>Hannah and her meet less and less. Rebecca has the feeling that the woman has finally caught up with what has happened and rather doesn’t want to cross Rebecca’s path, but when they do their discussions escalate more and more.</p><p>She wishes they don’t. She had always liked the housekeeper, but the pity in Hannah’s eyes makes Rebecca’s skin crawl. Hannah looks at her as if she is a lamb or a deer and her words are full of contempt and misplaced compassion. This time it gets bad quickly—maybe it’s the memory of her father that makes her so defensive (although she cannot really remember when that memory had taken place, it feels like a long time ago, so long it almost feels like it has never happened at all).</p><p>He sees me, Rebecca had said—or was that another memory? They are in the small chapel that much she knows. Hannah had scoffed at her comment. She usually doesn’t. Usually Hannah stays polite to a fault. Even when she shouldn’t have. Even when she should punish her.</p><p>“And what does he see in you that no one else sees, hm?”</p><p>Rebecca shrugs her shoulders, not sure how to describe it specifically. “More than just a pretty face, a kind woman, he sees me as I am.”</p><p>Another quirk of the eyebrows. Rebecca doesn’t know why, but it makes her angry.</p><p>“And who are you, Rebecca Jessel?”</p><p>The question catches her off guard. She blinks for a moment. Then another moment passes without a word being spoken. She doesn’t know what to say.</p><p>“I always thought you were brilliant, beautiful, capable. I was certain that you could’ve got whatever you wanted.”</p><p>There it is, the misplaced compassion, which makes Rebecca cringe. If only it had been true, but the world had never given her what she wanted, she had needed to work for it, to dig her teeths into and claw a piece out for herself. Peter had understood this—understands this. He knows how rough the world is to her.</p><p>(And yet he had left her to die alone, a voice says, he had doomed her for all eternity.)</p><p>Quickly she focuses her mind on Hannah, on what has been said. It feels like Hannah is lying to make her feel better because she is certain that Hannah had not thought much of her when she had arrived. Not that this is a bad thing, Hannah had certainly not thought ill of her, of that she is sure.</p><p>“And you were right,” she finally says. The words taste bitter in her mouth. “I got it.”</p><p>She shouldn’t have said it. Hannah’s gaze grows unbearably soft. <em> I want you to hate me</em>, she thinks, <em> I want you to not care</em>.</p><p>“You wanted to die for a man?”</p><p>The question hangs heavy in the air, both of them know the answer. Of course she had not. She had wanted to be a barrister that’s why she had applied initially, but her initial wish feels so distant now, so unimportant. What does it matter anyway? Yes, she had wanted to be a barrister, she had wanted so much: recognition, love, understanding. And in a sense she had got it, hadn’t she? Just not the way she had expected it, but the way she deserves.</p><p>“I don’t think that Peter saw you,” Hannah’s voice brings her out of her trance. Rebecca needs a moment to understand what she has said. She furrows her brows. Her hands curl into fists.</p><p>“You’re wrong,” she says quickly, but Hannah doesn’t stop.</p><p>“If he would’ve seen you for what you were, he would’ve respected you. He wouldn’t have made you stray from your job. He would have supported you in your endeavours.”</p><p>Now Rebecca wants to scoff, she wants to raise her eyebrows and say, not everyone is such a loyal dog. But she doesn’t because it feels like Peter’s bitter words on her tongue, so Hannah continues.</p><p>“He cut you into pieces, he made you his, until there was nothing left of you, how can you say that he saw you for what you were?”</p><p>She wants to fight that self righteous tone, the insinuation. She wants to say, <em> you don’t know me Hannah, if you would, you wouldn’t look at me in pity, but in disgust. What do I need to do for you to hate me</em>, but in that moment a memory comes to her, not like the way they usually come now, but like when she was still alive. There is no change of scenery. It’s just a thought of what had happened the day he had come back and apologized for his behavior. It had seemed genuine—no, it was genuine, as much genuine as Peter could’ve been—but she still remembers the night after and his hands in her hair pulling her down. <em> It’s good to know that when a man asks you to put something in your mouth, he doesn’t have to ask twice. </em> Even then she had thought about his comment and she had wondered if he had thought about it too.</p><p>She has to shake the thought off. Her eyes turn again to Hannah who looks at her intently and Rebecca feels bad and guilty.</p><p>“If you’re mad at me for what he has done to you, I understand,” she says and she does. There is no forgiving that. She had cursed him the day she had found out that he had killed Hannah, but as usual Peter had shrugged the issue away, and a few memories later she had dropped the issue too, sort of forgotten about it in this continuous loop.</p><p>Hannah raises her eyebrows. “Oh Rebecca, you should not be mad for what he has done to me, but for what he has done to you.”</p><p>The words pierce right through her. Hannah doesn’t even know half of it, she doesn’t know how he had taken her to the lake, how he had left her to die. Ashamed Rebecca looks at her hands and wishes she could leave this moment, could run away into a better memory, even Peter’s camera on her in her fur coat is better than this, but there is no pull, only Hannah’s long sigh.</p><p>“You were such a brilliant young woman, Rebecca, I remember the first time I saw you, you were so full of life. And he sucked it all out of you, little by little, and now look at you! No longer alive and still you hold on to him.”</p><p>“And what am I supposed to do?” She only realizes that she has been screaming when she has finished the sentence. Hannah looks at her speechless and Rebecca wonders if she is seeing Peter in her, if his possession has slowly turned her into a dark twisted version of him. She bites her lips and clenches her shaking fists. “I am trapped here. Where do you want me to escape to? There is nothing here, but the manor and him.”</p><p>Hannah has no answer. Rebecca is not sure if she is happy to have won this discussion. Tears stream down her face. “Dead things cannot grow Hannah, they only wither.”</p><hr/><p>Maybe there is some truth to Hannah’s words, maybe Peter had never really loved her, not fully at least. But maybe she had liked the version he chose to see in her. Maybe—and this is even worse—she likes the version he has made of her: the brilliant smart woman that seemed bigger than life, but small enough to fit into his pocket.</p><p>And that’s even more pathetic, isn’t it?</p><p>Hannah might’ve made her into this brilliant figurine destroyed by a vile man, but the truth is that she likes the feeling of shrinking. It feels comfortable, familiar even, like her father tugging her away at night.</p><p>This is why she goes to her room, seeking out this specific memory. As soon as she closes the door behind her, she can hear the creaking of the wooden floor. It’s night time, the rain falls gently against the window and he is waiting behind the door. Without hesitation she opens it to greet him, her lover, her doom, her murderer, with open arms. He is nervous every time and she wonders, how long had he sat in his room thinking about coming over.</p><p>He stammers an excuse and for a moment there he seems a bit small, but it’s gone as soon as he lifts her up. He makes her feel so light and small in his hands.</p><p>They roam her body that night. She barely gets to touch him. She hadn’t noticed during their first time, but it became a recurring thing. Not that he hated being touched, but there was a need for control in him and when her movement got too hectic, he would always grab her wrists pinning her down with a smile. But that doesn’t matter right now, all that matters is him all over her. His teeth bite into her neck, leaving marks that she has to cover the next day. His hands dig into her flesh, pulling her close. He doesn’t leave an inch of her unexplored. She is his completely and gives herself freely. His body crushes her into the mattress. She can barely breath with the weight of him on her. </p><p>And it is wonderful. It is perfectly splendid. She can feel herself growing smaller and smaller and smiles in relief.</p><hr/><p>Her eulogy goes like this: a poor misguided heroine destroyed in the clutches of an evil man. A beautiful brilliant woman punished for her virtues, an object without agency.</p><p>They make a warning out of her, a tragedy. They paint her the innocent victim. Rebecca knows that they do it out of love and yet she still hates them for it. It makes her feel unbearably guilty. How she wishes to be the woman they talk about, sweet, innocent and without choice, but they remember her wrong.</p><p>She had been warned over and over again, by Hannah, by Jamie, even by Owen, who had once set her aside with a good cup of tea and a few sweet words. She had liked his approach the most. He had simply asked her about her day, how she was doing, listening to her every word. It had been clear that he didn’t like Peter very much, but he had not tried to talk her out of anything.</p><p>Jamie and Hannah, they had pointed their fingers and said that it wasn’t love, said that he was dangerous. For them it must’ve seemed like they were revealing something to her. And maybe they had, the first time around.</p><p>But shouldn’t they have realized conversation after conversation that their words didn’t reach her?</p><p>They say it isn’t love. They say it is monstrous. They make great moralistic statements and think that will suffice. As if a moral argument can trump feelings, as if Rebecca couldn’t trust her own heart. If it isn’t love, what is she feeling then? Maybe she should’ve asked that then. Is she a child now that cannot trust her own eyes, her own heart?</p><p>Who says that love is all good and kind and perfect? That love is always pure. In truth, she is not as innocent as they make her seem. She is not the helpless heroine torn asunder, but a willing participant. She had glimpsed into Peter, had seen his all encompassing darkness and accepted it, embraced it. Now that’s a terrible story, a sadder story. She understands why no one wants to remember her like this.</p><p>But it doesn’t make it less true. This is why she smiles in relief when she sees him in the attic, the real him, not just a memory. He smiles too. It has been quite a while since she has seen him. There had been a reason for that, but she has already forgotten.</p><p>“Becs,” he says and she can hear the relief in his voice. “You were gone for such a long time, I-” He doesn’t finish the sentence, but she knows what he had feared.</p><p>“I got tucked away a lot,” she admits, “but not anymore.” Her words sound weirdly like a promise, but she doesn’t know if she can keep it.</p><p>“How are the children?” She asks.</p><p>“They are fine, don’t worry.” He sounds defensive and it makes her skin crawl.</p><p><em> What have you done to Miles</em>, she wants to ask, <em> is he alright? </em> But she knows it will only make him angry, so she smiles. Before she can say another word, he has taken her hands in his, leaning slightly down with his bright beautiful smile.</p><p>“Soon it will be ready, we will be able to escape.”</p><p>She can feel her smile falter a little bit at that, but luckily he is too happy to notice.</p><p>“You think so?” She asks hesitantly.</p><p>He nods and brushes away a strand of her from her face.</p><p>“It will be perfect, Becs. We will be free, we—” He freezes mid sentence and turns away. She knows what is happening. A knock at the door she can never hear, a call to a place far far away. He always grows quiet and afraid. She presses her hand against his face, which makes him turn back to her.</p><p>“I’m here,” she whispers, even though she knows it won’t help. He nods, but then turns around again.</p><p>“I know,” he says and then lets go of her anyway, she can see him slipping. And this time she reaches out her hand, she touches his shoulder.</p><p><em> Wait</em>, she wants to say, but suddenly they are no longer in the attic. They are in a small barren flat and there is a knock at the door. Peter walks past her, not even seeing her. Hannah had once entered a memory of her like this. Rebecca had also only been half aware of her at the time.</p><p>She watches as Peter opens the door. An old White woman waits behind it, with shaggy grey hair. She looks a bit like Peter. It’s in the eyes, Rebecca thinks, the same sad eyes.</p><p>Peter says something first, but it’s a mere whisper that Rebecca cannot hear.</p><p>His mother replies in the same Scottish accent. “That’s what you say to me? All this time, that’s what you say?”</p><p>The accusation lies heavy in the room. Rebecca tries to remember what Peter had told her about his family, but he has only ever made short off-handed comments, nothing too specific, just about growing up poor. Now that she thinks about it, Peter had never talked about his mother, only ever his father, and only ever with venom in his voice.</p><p>His mother talks in the same clipped poisoned tone. She thinks about the memory of her father and she knows this will be just as bad.</p><p>“And look at this. Look at you! And look at this!” His mother walks right past him, and right past her.</p><p>“You’re out,” she hears Peter’s voice behind her. He sounds uncertain. His mother stops and turns. This close Rebecca notices her well maintained but old looking clothes, the dark rings underneath her eyes. They are about the same height, but she walks crunched making her even smaller.</p><p>“I’m out,” she says with a finality and then moves into the living room. Rebecca watches her look around the room. It’s a small mostly empty flat. There is a dart board that she notes with interest. She imagines him at night smoking and throwing darts against the board.  He probably didn’t have the time to go to a pub, always alternating between the bureau and the manor. He had never mentioned close friends of any sort either, at the time Rebecca had assumed that he simply didn’t have the time to maintain them. It probably had got worse, when they got together. Rebecca wonders if this memory is before or after. She couldn’t quite tell.</p><p>Peter passes her as well, still not noticing her. His eyes are focused on his mother, but he doesn't enter the living room staying by the doorframe. It almost seems like he is afraid to come any closer.</p><p>“How long this time?” </p><p>“Forever.”</p><p>His expression barely changes at that, but Rebecca can see his hand curl into a fist. His expression grows dark. She wants to step forward and hold his hand, show him that he is not alone, but it’s his memory and he doesn’t see her.</p><p>“Well, I suppose they’d say I’m cured. They said- they said I’m cured. Free to go. Wasn’t much to start with, but here we are.”</p><p>He turns away, Rebecca wishes that he doesn’t. She wants to see what is going. This feels like a missing puzzle piece. For all his words, all his love, he had never let her in. He had never shown himself to her. She only realizes that now. </p><p>“What do you want, ...mom?” He adds the last words hesitantly, as if they feel heavy on his lips. She steps closer to him, wanting to help him even if he could not see her. <em> It’s alright</em>, she wants to say, <em> I’m here. She can’t hurt you. </em></p><p>“Just a little help. Trying to get started fresh. That’s difficult. And the doctors, they don’t give you anything. Not even a note. Nothing to see you’re well,” her voice is breaking up as she speaks. Rebecca wants to turn, but her eyes are on Peter and his haunted terrorized expression, “Pete, I’m scared. If I can’t get my own place. If I can’t get my own job. Doesn’t leave me a lot of options. And where do I go if not your father.”</p><p>Rebecca freezes and then furrows her brows. His father? He is dead. But Peter only smiles, he smiles and turns away. It’s a bitter smile, but some of his tension leaves him as soon as the word is spoken, as if he has been waiting for them.</p><p>“He sent you, didn’t he?” His words are bitter and weight heavy. Rebecca still remembers what he had said to Miles. <em> I lost my father a long time ago</em>.  Had he lied just to comfort Miles? It is possible, or maybe this was a different time long before they had ever met, but somehow Rebecca doubts it. She doubts that he had lied on purpose or for personal gain. No, he had meant it. <em> This belonged to my dad, a little piece of him, one of the only nice bits really. </em> Her heart grows heavy as she remembers. Maybe it had been more comfortable for Peter to imagine him dead.</p><p>“You know he’d kill you if he could. For what you did to him.”</p><p>It’s how casual she says these words that make Rebecca’s blood run cold. All sort of calm leaves Peter in that moment. The tension is back.</p><p>“For what <em> I </em> did to him?”</p><p>Rebecca had heard Peter use this voice before, when he had been mad at her because of the batter. Unlike her, his mother is not intimidated.</p><p>“He says it all the time...” Her voice trails off. Her eyes are focused on her son. In that moment the resemblance is almost unbearable. He had looked at her like this as well, carefully calculating, reading every expression on her face. </p><p>“For what <b> <em>I</em> </b> did to him?”</p><p>Peter repeats the words again, growing angrier. Rebecca fears what will happen next, but he is still at the door, still waiting. <em>It’s going to be alright</em>, Rebecca wants to say again. She imagines taking his hand and pressing it against her lips. <em>It will be fine,</em> <em>it’s just a memory</em>.</p><p>“I just said I didn’t want to have to turn to your father-”</p><p>“After all <em> he </em> did.” Maybe it’s the pain in his voice, he sounds so hollow, so haunted, but she steps forward putting her hand on his shoulders.</p><p>He flinches instinctively, as his eyes turn to her and he sees her finally. He explodes before she can explain herself, pushing her away, she stumbles backwards, but doesn’t fall.</p><p>“What are you doing here?” If his hands were not shaking, she would’ve been really afraid, even though she is dead, even though he cannot hurt her any longer. She opens her mouth to explain, but he doesn’t let her.</p><p>“Leave,” he screams and she wants to, but her legs feel like they are frozen to the ground. In the living room still stands his mother, like a puppet waiting for her next line. She doesn’t notice her, maybe it’s for the better. She can handle one Quint, but not two.</p><p>“You’re not supposed to be here!”</p><p>“I’m sorry.”</p><p>Peter turns away, there are tears in his eyes. He doesn’t want her to see. He doesn’t want to let her in. <em> Tell me what has happened! Tell me what has your father done! </em> She doesn’t say it outloud. <em> Is he the reason for your scar? </em></p><p>Then he screams obscenities, so loudly that she flinches away.  She expects the worst to happen now, but suddenly he sinks to the floor, all anger gone. </p><p>She watches him curl into a bawl, arms wrapped around his legs and she wants nothing more than to hold him, but she knows he would push her away again, so she just watches him as tears fill her eyes.</p><p>He looks so small on the ground and it feels like for the first time she is able to see past his charming smile and his intense gaze. What’s hidden underneath is not a monster, not even a man, it is a child, a small lost child that makes itself bigger by possessing others.</p><p>She has so much that she wants to say, but can’t because she knows he will push her away. She wants to say: <em> I love you. Every part of you. Even though you killed me, and Hannah. Even though you lied and twisted yourself into my life. And you know the horrible thing is I would’ve loved you without your twists and turns, because there is so much to love about you, but you don’t see it, do you? </em></p><p>Maybe her thoughts are too loud because Peter turns to her with an angry expression and suddenly she is standing in the foyer of the manor all alone.</p><hr/><p>No ghost dares to dream, really dream like one does when one falls asleep or when one has hope. Death does that, Rebecca supposes, there is no more hope to have and no more sleep. Maybe that’s why Peter is so focused on this vision of them as Miles and Flora. It’s his only dream left.</p><p>But Rebecca remembers that they had different dreams, many dreams: dreams of America, dreams of a career. Seemingly impossible but beautiful dreams, with Peter they had all seemed possible. That’s why she had loved being around him. Every constraint, every hurdle had seemed small by his side. <em> To hell with being proper! To hell with following the rules</em>—<em>no one can see us here Becs, c’mon</em>—It had scared her deeply, but it had made it so exciting at the same time.</p><p>Her whole life had been about working around rules and borders meant to keep her out. She never crossed a line, only ever walked the tightrope, afraid to fall off. And then he had come into her life and everything had seemed possible. She tries to channel that feeling now. She tries to dream, really dream, not just remembering. At first it’s hard, like a muscle she has forgotten how to use, but she is smart and brilliant—as Hannah (and Peter) like to say—so she does not stop.</p><p>And then it gets surprisingly easy. She can see the Statue of Liberty, the noise of traffic. She takes Peter’s hand—yes, she takes him with her because she simply cannot cut him out—she needs to see it crash and burn herself. Which they do eventually. His jealousy gets the best of him. They fight in their apartment, they fight in the restaurant. Sometimes she dreams of him leaving her forever, she dreams of her leaving him, running out of the apartment into the streets. It’s raining down on her and she is finally free. She cries through the night, but slowly the reality sinks in. Life is good, she finds a job, and slowly finds herself again.</p><p>But these are not the only dreams, she has to look at every version: she dreams of marrying him, of painting the nursery: sweet talk and kisses, boundaries that she puts up and he respects. She dreams of him crying against her chest telling her about his father and she holds him tight and tells him that she loves him and he lets go and tells her that he loves her too.</p><p>She dreams of them in court facing the Windgraves, of Hannah’s angry stare and Henry’s snarl. She dreams of prison, of crushed dreams. They drift apart in the confines of their cells.</p><p>There is no perfect version, some possibilities seem safer than other, but they are still filled with pain and there is beauty in all of them: the flowers in the empty street she wonders for hours after she has left him, their fight in the fancy restaurant after she got a promotion which leaves a wine stain on her dress, the nights spend awake as she waits for him to be free of his demons, her hair in disarray.</p><p>She presses forward: dreams of his death, her death, the great nothingness awaiting them at the end and then she dares and dreams of growing. She dreams of setting her boundaries in every aspect of her life and keeping them, of never shrinking, even though she feels the compulsion.</p><p>And in her dreams, far far away from the manor it feels easy. In her dreams, far far away from everything she starts to grow. Until she is bigger than the world, bigger than the galaxy, bigger than the entire universe. And as she continues to grow infinitely, she can feel the manor inside of her, confined by her body. There is Peter too, so small he fits into her jeans pocket. They are still there. She carries them with her, but as she grows past the size of the universe, she realizes that there is so much more of her.</p><hr/><p>The cycle goes like this: She sleeps, she dreams, she wakes, she forgets.</p><p>Simple isn’t it?</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>i hoped you enjoy it! for some reason rebecca jessel and her story was my favourite part of the second season and i just NEEDED to write this. if you have any thoughts, opinions ect. yell them at me!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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